


First Time for Everything

by Blackpearl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Love, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-05 23:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackpearl/pseuds/Blackpearl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of 'firsts' in Sherlock and John's relationship, where each chapter is a different first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kiss

The streets of London were dark and heavy with a persistent mist and the ever-present sound of traffic rumbled in the distance. Streetlamps flickered and glowed, and lights in houses were switched off as their inhabitants decided it was time to sleep. All in all, it was a normal night in London for everyone but Sherlock and John. For them it was definitely not normal. Sherlock had been wrong about some minute detail of a case, which may not sound too bad, but his mistake had led to him and John walking straight into a trap and subsequently trying to avoid being shot. Between them, they eventually managed to catch the criminal, and fell into a taxi after handing him over to Lestrade. 

“How could I have missed the loose button on the victim’s coat?” Sherlock was still bemoaning the fact that he had made an error. “Stupid, stupid.” He ran his hands through his messy curls as the taxi began its journey back to Baker Street. 

“Sherlock, I really have no idea how that tiny piece of information could aid you at all, but do please shut up about it, because my head hurts,” said John.

The corners of Sherlock’s lips twitched up in a small smile, but he thankfully remained silent and instead turned to look out of the window. John found his gaze inexplicably drawn towards his flatmate and friend. He would have been lying to himself if he said that he didn’t find Sherlock attractive, because he really did. The mysterious colour of his eyes; caught somewhere between blue and grey. The way his muscles rippled underneath those ridiculously tight-fitting shirts. The smooth marble curve of his neck that was just begging to be kissed and sucked…

“John?”

Sherlock’s deep baritone voice punctured John’s thoughts, and a steady flush built up on his cheeks when he realised that he had been caught staring. 

“Sorry, I was completely out of it then,” John offered weakly as a reply. 

“Yes, I had noticed.” 

The cab pulled up outside 221B and John hastily climbed out of it, leaving Sherlock to pay. Mrs Hudson greeted them in the hallway and briefly chastised them for getting into trouble again, before letting them go upstairs to their own flat. They both hung up their coats and heeled off their shoes, then John went to make some tea and Sherlock paced around the living room, apparently still berating himself for his earlier mistake. 

John sighed quietly to himself, finished making the tea and sat down on the sofa. He placed Sherlock’s mug beside his own on the coffee table and flicked the television on. Within a few minutes, Sherlock was right beside him, invading his personal space as usual. 

“Sherlock, seriously? You’ve got almost the entire sofa; our legs do not have to be touching.” He was absolutely not going to mention what their sudden closeness was doing to his body. 

“Interesting,” Sherlock said, not making any attempt to move. 

“What is?”

“You are.”

At that, John moved his gaze away from whatever was showing on the television and towards Sherlock, whose face was only about thirty centimetres away from his own.   
“What do you mean?”

“Your pupils are dilated; your breathing has become more deliberate, like you’re trying to force yourself to do something…” He reached out and pressed two soft fingers to the pulse point in John’s neck. “Your pulse is elevated…” Sherlock’s voice seemed to drop an octave. “Need I continue?”

John spluttered for a moment. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, but-”

“Your attraction to me, obviously. Would you act on that attraction if I said I felt the same?” Suddenly Sherlock’s confidence was gone, replaced by a quiet vulnerability and a genuine question hung in his words. 

“I…what?” 

Wordlessly, Sherlock moved John’s hand to his neck to feel his rapid pulse. “I must confess,” Sherlock said, his voice gravelly. “That I’ve felt something for you since I met you. I tried to push it away, but it’s just become too much…”

John’s gaze flickered from his eyes; wide, dark, vulnerable, to his lips; slightly parted, begging to be kissed. Slowly, John leant forwards and pressed his lips against Sherlock’s. For a moment, Sherlock was completely still, but then he leant into the kiss, parting his lips to allow John’s curious tongue into his mouth. Sherlock moaned softly as John explored his mouth, warm and wet. Their tongues met as Sherlock gained confidence, his hands resting on John’s waist as John’s tangled into his hair. Eventually they pulled apart, both breathing heavily. 

“Sherlock, was that…was that your first kiss?” John asked, untangling his fingers from Sherlock’s hair. 

Sherlock nodded his head. “I’ve never been interested in kissing or sex or relationships before, but then you came along and changed everything.” He took John’s hands into his own. “I want all of those things with you. I’ll probably be terrible and I won’t know what I’m doing, and I’ll still be me but… tell me you want it too?” There was a vague note of pleading in Sherlock’s voice. 

John gave his hands a gentle squeeze. “Of course I want it too. You know I do.” He reached up to cup Sherlock’s jaw with one hand and pulled him in for another kiss. This one was a little more urgent, needy. John showed Sherlock how much he was wanted with the swipe of his tongue, the varying pressure of his lips, and the way he gently sucked Sherlock’s lower lip into his mouth. In response, Sherlock moaned in encouragement and sucked on John’s tongue as it danced with his own. His hands ran over John’s body, feeling the defined muscles of his chest, his softer stomach, and the strength of his well-built shoulders. It felt incredible to be this close to someone, to kiss John and be able to put his hands wherever he wanted. 

John pulled away, smiling at the disappointed sound Sherlock made as their lips broke apart. “There’s plenty of time for that, Sherlock. No rush.” 

Sherlock merely nodded. “Before we go any further, I think you should know that I’m a…virgin.” He looked down at the floor.

John tilted his face back up again. “I know, and it’s okay. We can go as slowly as you want.” 

Sherlock nodded again. “I do want to…you know, have sex with you at some point. Just not yet…” 

He looked scared, John realised. “Come here.” He held open his arms and Sherlock quickly moved into them, resting his head on John’s chest. “There’s no need to be afraid. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

Sherlock smiled. “I trust you, John.”

“Good, I’m glad. Now come up here so I can kiss you again.”


	2. Sleep

The first time Sherlock and John slept in the same bed was the same night they shared their first kiss. They were both lying on the sofa, Sherlock half on top of John, exchanging lazy kisses in the dim light. Sherlock was so comfortable wrapped in John’s arms, feeling happier than he had in years, that he didn’t want to move. When John’s body began screaming at him to go to bed, he reluctantly slid out from underneath Sherlock and stood up, extending a hand to him. Sherlock looked up at him, puzzled. 

“Sleep in my bed tonight,” John clarified. 

“Mine’s closer,” muttered Sherlock, taking John’s hand. 

“Fine, I’ll sleep in yours then.” 

Sherlock stood up and headed towards the bathroom, claiming the sink to brush his teeth. John fetched his pillows and alarm clock from his room and chucked them onto Sherlock’s bed before joining him in the bathroom. By the time he was ready, Sherlock was already curled up in his bed. John organised his pillows then slipped under the covers to wrap himself around Sherlock, his chest pressing Sherlock’s back. 

Sherlock extended a hand and switched off the bedside lamp, surrounding them in darkness. John lightly rested a hand on his lover’s waist and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. 

“Mmm,” Sherlock let out a contented sigh. 

“You like cuddling in bed then, huh?” asked John, unable to supress a small smirk. 

“Yes.” Sherlock reached for John’s hand and tangled their fingers together. “Goodnight, John.”

“Goodnight, Sherlock.” 

*

Sherlock woke up feeling very warm and very comfortable. John was still pressed up against his back with an arm resting on Sherlock’s hip. His forehead was pressed against Sherlock’s neck, his breath ghosting soft and warm, and sending shivers down his spine. Sherlock shifted slightly and John stirred. 

“Morning,” he muttered.

“Morning,” replied Sherlock, rolling over and tucking his head under John’s chin. 

John smiled to himself and wrapped his arms around his sleepy lover. “Sleep well?”

“Mmm,” he hummed in response. “You?” 

“Definitely. You’re very cuddly this morning.” 

“You’re warm.” 

John chuckled and ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, eliciting a contented sigh from the taller man. Sherlock stretched up and pressed a hesitant kiss to John’s lips. John smiled and kissed him back softly, his fingers stroking the nape of his neck. 

“Come on,” John said eventually. “We need to get up and get down to the Yard to give our statements.” 

Sherlock groaned quietly as John extracted himself from Sherlock’s arms and padded towards the bathroom.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he said. 

“Mkay.” Sherlock rolled over and buried his face in the pillows, breathing in the comforting smell of John. Last night he had slept better than he had in years, and the bed was still warm. Sherlock found himself slipping back into sleep.


	3. Hands

The second time Sherlock and John woke up together was slightly different. During the night, Sherlock had draped himself over John, his face buried in the crook of his neck and their legs tangled together. John woke first and groaned inwardly; his body had apparently reacted to the fact that he had a very warm, very attractive person wrapped around him. John attempted to slide out from underneath Sherlock, but Sherlock pulled him back.

“It’s fine, John. Completely normal,” he mumbled.

“Yes, I am a doctor, thank you. I also know that it’s not going to go away for as long as I’m lying in bed with you so please, let me go.” He tried to get out of the bed again, but once more, Sherlock pulled him back and rolled half on top of him, pinning him down.

“Sherlock, seriously…” John began, but he was silenced by a kiss. “You’re really not help-” Another kiss, this time Sherlock slipped his tongue into John’s mouth and John groaned.

The kiss was hot and demanding; Sherlock’s tongue was insistent in John’s mouth, licking and tasting. Sherlock ran a hand up under John’s pyjama shirt, stroking lightly across his chest. He revelled in the way John’s muscles jumped and twitched at his touch.

John leant his head back as Sherlock pulled away from his lips to start kissing down his neck. “Sherlock…” He was now almost impossibly hard; his cock felt thick and heavy between his legs and he was already leaking pre-come.

Sherlock pulled away from John and tugged his shirt up over his head before yanking down his pyjama bottoms, freeing his aching cock.

John gasped. “Sherlock, what are you doing?”

Sherlock said nothing, instead choosing to lower his head and swirl his tongue around one of John’s nipples.

John’s hips jerked reflexively. “Jesus,” he muttered. His fingers came up to tangle into Sherlock’s hair. “Really, you don’t have to…” John almost hated himself for saying it, because he was afraid that Sherlock would stop what he was doing, but at the same time he didn’t want Sherlock to feel obliged to do anything.

“I want to,” Sherlock murmured, lifting his head to look John in the eyes. Holding his gaze, he reached down and wrapped his hand firmly around the base of John’s cock.

John’s breath audibly hitched in his throat. “You might need…some lube…” he managed to say.

Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow before smearing John’s pre-come up and down his length, causing John to moan and close his eyes. Sherlock leant forwards to kiss him once more as he started up a slow rhythm with his hand. He catalogued every sound John made; every groan or sigh of pleasure and quickly found a technique that seemed to be the most effective: long, firm strokes, with a slight twist at the head. John was panting into his mouth, their kisses lost in a mixture of teeth and tongues. Before long, John hips were rocking of their own accord and his fingers were tight in Sherlock’s hair. His groans were getting louder as he neared his climax; he could feel the familiar tightness in his stomach and gripped Sherlock harder in warning. Sherlock’s strokes on his cock sped up and that was all it took. John’s body shook and trembled and his mind went blank as he came with a strangled cry, coating Sherlock’s hand and his own stomach.

“Oh God,” he managed, his breathing still ragged.

Sherlock reached for a tissue and cleaned off his hand, before handing it to John, who cleaned himself up quickly and then fell back onto the bed, pulling Sherlock half on top of him. It was then that John discovered that Sherlock was hard too.

“Want me to do something about that?” he asked, kissing Sherlock’s lips gently.

“What?” Sherlock asked, then realised with a jolt what John was talking about. It seemed that he had been so involved with bringing John to climax and cataloguing every sensation that he was completely unaware of the effect it had on his own body. He suddenly felt extremely embarrassed and self-conscious. “Oh, no, it’s fine…”

“Sherlock…” John said slowly. “That was amazing; better than I ever imagined it to be. I’d really like to do the same for you.” He stroked a thumb down the sharp angle of Sherlock’s cheek. “Please?”

Sherlock closed his eyes and leant his forehead against John’s. He took a moment to consider his options: his mind was firmly telling him not to do this, not to get involved in anything sexual because that’s how he had trained himself to think over the last few years. His body, on the other hand, was screaming at him to give in, because this was John, and John was gentle and kind and understood him. Eventually he nodded, and John nudged him over to lie on his back before lavishing his neck with his tongue and pulling at the bottom of his t-shirt. Sherlock yanked his shirt off while John pushed down his trousers, discarding them on the floor somewhere.

John returned to kissing Sherlock’s neck whilst rubbing light circles on his thigh. Sherlock moaned quietly as John’s touch set his skin alight. His cock throbbed and ached as all the blood rushed south and his mind started to shut down. A brief moment of panic coursed through his body, but John kissed him again.

“Relax,” he whispered, his hand curling around Sherlock’s cock. John was momentarily surprised by how much Sherlock was leaking, but then he remembered that he’d never been touched like this before and so concentrated all of his efforts into making it good.

John began to stroke him, gently and slowly, and Sherlock made a keening noise, his breathing harsh and uneven. His fingers scrabbled at the sheets, trying to find purchase. With his spare hand, John moved one of Sherlock’s hands to the back of his head and leant down to kiss him gently. Sherlock gripped at John’s hair, and John, encouraged by this, sped up his hand, alternating the pressure and brushing the heel of his palm over the head of Sherlock’s cock on every third stroke. In only a few minutes, Sherlock was panting and writhing on the bed, his body covered in a light sheen of sweat.

“It’s okay, Sherlock. Let go,” John murmured, close to his ear.

At that, Sherlock’s body tensed up and he came hard with a barely stifled groan, his nails digging into John’s scalp.

John pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and reached for the tissues. Once they were both cleaned up, Sherlock rolled closer to him. “That was, umm, good,” he said, blushing slightly.

“Good.” John rubbed his back gently. “Don’t be embarrassed, it’s okay.”

Sherlock draped an arm over John’s stomach, still trying to catch his breath. It took him a few minutes to realise that the only thoughts in his head were ‘John’, and that his muscles felt strangely loose and relaxed.

“John,” he murmured.

“Hm?”

“My brain… it’s quiet…”

“Is that a good thing?” John’s hands moved to stroke his hair.

Sherlock thought for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his hair being stroked. “Yes,” he decided eventually. “I feel like I could go back to sleep for a while.”

John chuckled. “That’s normal.” He pressed another kiss to Sherlock’s forehead. “Go to sleep.”

Sherlock made a consenting noise, and within a few minutes, they were both asleep again.


	4. Mouths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear readers, I'm so sorry it's taken such a long time for me to update: my life is very busy at the moment with important exams and lots of revision etc etc. I hope you enjoy this latest instalment, and I promise you that I will continue to update as soon as my exams are over (which is in eight days time). 
> 
> BP x

Sherlock and John had been together for roughly two weeks and their relationship was still moving slowly, partly because they had both been busy with work and cases, but also because John didn't want to rush Sherlock. They had fallen into a comfortable routine of sleeping in the same bed (unless Sherlock was on a case), sharing a few gentle kisses in the morning when they woke up in a tangle of limbs and sheets, and the odd moment of intimacy in the evenings, which ranged from cuddling on the sofa to some very good handjobs. Other than that, things hadn't changed much; John still worked a few shifts at the surgery, Sherlock still took over the kitchen with potentially toxic and occasionally revolting experiments, and both of them still chased criminals half way around London on a regular basis.

At present, they were sitting on the sofa having recently finished eating their dinner consisting of leftover Chinese takeaway from the previous night. John sat at the end of the sofa with one leg on the floor and the other one gradually going numb under Sherlock's weight. The consulting detective had his head tucked under John's chin and an arm draped loosely over his waist, his hot breath blowing softly against John's neck. The television was on; showing a repeat of QI on some obscure channel, but John was only half paying attention. He buried his nose in Sherlock's thick curls and inhaled deeply; smiling at the familiar scent of mint and tea tree shampoo mixed with the cologne that Sherlock wore every day and the other, less noticeable scents of tea, rain and home.

John pulled away to press a kiss to Sherlock's temple, and was rewarded by Sherlock lifting his head to claim his lips. They kissed languidly for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth and comfort of each other before their kisses turned more urgent. John shifted to lie back on the sofa and Sherlock rested on top of him, one hand cupping his jaw and the other sliding up under his shirt, a thigh pressed between John's legs. The blond reached up to tangle his fingers into his lover's hair as his tongue swiped across Sherlock's lips, before sliding into his mouth and making the taller man groan. He could feel Sherlock's rapidly-hardening cock against his thigh and reached down to palm him through his thin cotton pyjama bottoms. Somewhere in the back of his mind, John knew that handjobs, however good, were not quite enough for him any longer.

Sherlock moaned and gasped against John's mouth, his hips jerking forward to push himself into John's hand. Suddenly he pulled away, and Sherlock whined at the loss of contact.

"Sherlock, do you trust me?" John asked, tugging on the hem of Sherlock's shirt and pulling it over his head.

"Of course," replied Sherlock, his voice seemingly about an octave lower than usual.

John sat up and let Sherlock slide back onto the sofa. "I want to do something for you. Will you let me?" His thumbs hooked over the waistband of Sherlock's trousers, and he obligingly lifted his hips to let John pull them off. John raised his gaze to meet Sherlock's eyes in an effort to not stare at his cock, red and flushed and glistening with pre-come.

"Yes," Sherlock said, two spots of pink staining his pale cheeks.

John grabbed a cushion and placed it onto the floor before dropping to his knees on it on front of Sherlock and leaning forwards.

"Oh God," Sherlock muttered as understanding dawned on his face.

John smiled and pressed a few chaste kisses to the inside of his thighs, delighting in the way Sherlock squirmed above him. He lifted his head and gripped the base of Sherlock's cock firmly with his left hand, stroking him a few times before taking the glans into his mouth. Sherlock's hips bucked as he was overcome with pleasure; the hot, wet tightness of John's mouth around his aching cock was almost too much for him. John reached up and placed his right hand on Sherlock's hip to steady him and stroke the soft skin there reassuringly.

Sherlock's head fell back against the sofa and a long moan escaped his lips as John ran his tongue over the frenulum then back up over the glans. "Fuck." His breath came in short, sharp gasps now, he was so close to orgasm already; he could already feel the familiar clenching in his abdomen. He tangled his fingers into John's hair and tugged in an effort to warn him, but John either didn't get the hint or didn't care (Sherlock would later suspect that it was the latter) and instead took Sherlock's cock down as far as possible, before pulling almost all the way off and then sliding back down again, and Sherlock all but cried out in pleasure.

When John began to moan around Sherlock's cock and palm himself through his trousers, Sherlock lost it, coming with a barely-stifled shout of John's name. John, for his part, mostly focused on not gagging and swallowing as quickly as possible. When Sherlock was completely spent, lying boneless on the sofa, John pulled off of him with an obscene noise and leant over to kiss him gently.

Sherlock groaned at the taste of himself on John's lips and pulled him up onto the sofa. He was almost instantly aware of John's erection nudging against his hip.

"Hmm," he said, smiling. "Let me take care of that for you."


	5. Bodies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are my lovely readers, a brand new chapter for you! My exams are finally over which means I can get round to writing all the things I've been meaning to do for ages. I'm still desperately looking for a beta-reader so if anyone's interested, please let me know. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the chapter!
> 
> BP x

It was a wet Tuesday at about 8 o’clock at night. It had been drizzling all day and Sherlock and John had been on a case since the early afternoon. It was cold and miserable out on London’s streets but finally they had finished and returned to 221B Baker Street. They barely made it through the door before the need to touch each other became too much to bear. John grabbed Sherlock by the lapels of his coat and pushed him up against the wall. Their lips met in a frantic kiss, hands tearing at coats and jackets, shoes being kicked off and discarded in the hallway. With adrenaline from the case still thrumming through their veins with each rapid beat of their hearts, they managed to get upstairs to the flat and into their bedroom where their desperate kisses turned softer and more passionate.

John brought his hands up to slowly unbutton Sherlock’s shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and letting the fine fabric drop to the floor. Calloused fingers ran down the marble contours of Sherlock’s chest and the consulting detective shivered at his touch. He tugged at the hem of John’s jumper and reluctantly broke away from his lips to allow him to pull his jumper and shirt off in one smooth movement. John moved closer to kiss Sherlock again, his tongue slipping into the taller man’s mouth while his fingers set about undoing his trousers. It never failed to amaze him how aroused Sherlock could get just from kissing and touching, but the evidence was there in the very prominent erection John was now running a hand over. Sherlock made a keening noise against John’s lips and impatiently shoved his partner’s jeans and boxers down. He stepped out of his own trousers and silk boxers and kicked them away from the bed.

Both naked now, they lay down on the bed, bodies pressed flush against each other and hands roaming over warm skin. John’s hand moved to the small of Sherlock’s back, and he arched into his touch.

“What do you want, Sherlock?” John murmured, trailing kisses down the detective’s neck.

Sherlock made the decision almost instantly; it was like something had finally clicked in his brain. “I want to have sex with you.”

John stopped his ministrations on Sherlock’s neck and raised his head to look his lover in the eyes. “Are… Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Sherlock’s heart was hammering in his chest. “I’m ready.”

John leant forwards and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Alright… I’ll be gentle, okay? And you have to promise me that if you feel uncomfortable or want to stop you’ll say.”

“I promise,” Sherlock breathed.

“Okay.” John kissed him again. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” He left the room and quickly went upstairs to his old room, where he knew there were condoms and lube in his bedside drawer. When he returned a few minutes later, Sherlock had moved further up the bed with his head on the pillows.

He glanced up at John as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “No condoms.”

“What?” said John.

“I don’t want there to be anything between us.” Sherlock sat up and gently extracted the silver packets from John’s fingers. Seeing that John was still hesitant, he said, “I’m clean. I don’t have anything. I was tested after the last time I had a drugs relapse.”

John smiled gently. “I’m clean too.”

“Of course you are.”

Sherlock chucked the condoms onto the floor as John flicked open the cap on the lube.

“Just try and relax.” John kissed him again, pushing Sherlock back down onto the bed and nudging his legs apart with a knee. “I’m not going to lie and say this won’t hurt, because it will, but it’ll get better and I’m here and I’ll stop if you want me to.”

Sherlock merely nodded, watching John with an expression of both lust and fear as he spread the lube over the fingers of his left hand. He moved then, hovering over Sherlock and kissing him tenderly as the tip of his index finger circled around Sherlock’s entrance. He pressed the tip of his finger into him, and Sherlock immediately tensed up.

“Relax…” John murmured, gently circling the tip of his finger.

Sherlock concentrated all of his efforts into relaxing his muscles and after a few minutes, his body complied with his brain. John slipped his finger deeper and Sherlock tried to focus on John’s lips, soft and gentle on his, instead of the pain. Gradually, Sherlock got used to the foreign feeling and soon John had two fingers buried inside him. It still hurt and it still felt strange, but then John’s fingers moved in a particular way and Sherlock felt pleasure spike in his stomach.

“Oh God, do that again…” said Sherlock against John’s lips.

John smiled and brushed his fingertips over Sherlock’s prostate again and felt the other man’s hips jerk reflexively.

“Christ I’m glad you’re a doctor…” Sherlock gasped.

*

It took almost half an hour before John deemed Sherlock to be ready. By this point, John had worked his way up to three fingers and Sherlock was well past caring about the discomfort. John was sure he had never been so hard in his life. He removed his fingers and poured some more lube into his palm, warming it for a few minutes before preparing himself and leaning over his lover to kiss him.

“Ready?” he asked and Sherlock nodded. John held onto Sherlock’s hips and pushed into him slowly.

Sherlock gasped in pain; John was much bigger than the three fingers he’d previously experienced. His breathing harsh, he desperately tried to relax. John kissed him gently, his fingers rubbing soothing circles on his hip.

“Easy, it’s alright Sherlock, it’s okay. Just relax.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and took hold of John’s hand, tangling their fingers together. John began to move slowly, gently, rocking carefully in and out of his lover and slipping slightly deeper with each thrust. The head of his cock began to brush over Sherlock’s prostate and suddenly Sherlock was completely unaware of the pain, only the feel of John inside him, John’s arm around him, their clasped hands, and their lips against each other. For the first time in his life he felt whole, and utterly loved. 

He could feel his orgasm starting, and held John closer to him. Their kisses became a little more heated, and John wrapped a hand around Sherlock’s neglected cock, stroking him slowly but firmly.

“Fuck.” Sherlock arched up off the bed, squirming slightly.

“Yes, Sherlock come on…” John began to nip at his lips, his hand on Sherlock’s cock speeding up.

Sherlock wrapped his arms tighter still around him, burying his face in John’s neck to stifle his cry as he came. John followed a few seconds later, Sherlock’s name on his lips.

Afterwards, they lay tangled in each other’s arms, breathing heavily and exchanging lazy kisses. Eventually Sherlock’s body began to protest against John’s softening cock.

“This will probably hurt,” said John, propping himself up on his elbows.

Sherlock nodded absently, wincing as John pulled out of him.

“Are you okay?” John asked, lying on his side facing his lover.

Sherlock nodded again and turned to face John. “I’m not going to freak out if that’s what you mean.”

“Well, it was always a possibility,” replied John with a smile.

“I’m fine. Just a bit sore.” He moved into the doctor’s open arms.

John pressed a kiss to his forehead. “It will fade. That was amazing, Sherlock. Really.”

Sherlock smiled to himself. “How long before we can do it again?”


	6. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is my lovelies, the final chapter! Huge thanks to my fantastic beta-reader, cdngingergirl for making this so much better and thank you to everyone who has read and commented so far. Enjoy the final chapter :)
> 
> BP x

Three weeks later found Sherlock and John in their flat after a case, which had ended in a fight in a darkened alley and John badly spraining his ankle. It was clear that he was in absolute agony every time he put any weight on it at all, so Sherlock had sent him straight to bed and promised to take care of him. Needless to say, John had been somewhat dubious of Sherlock’s definition of taking care of someone, but he needn’t have worried; Sherlock had actually been very good. John had been supplied with endless plates of toast and cups of tea, but due to the constant pain in his ankle that even painkillers couldn’t quell, John had been decidedly ungrateful.

“You’re right, doctors do make the worst patients,” Sherlock huffed one evening after John had pulled a face at Sherlock’s attempt at dinner. “I’m trying to take care of you here, and actually be helpful for a change, but if you’re not going to appreciate it, I won’t bother.”

John sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I do appreciate what you’ve been doing. I’m just in a bad mood because of my ankle.”

Sherlock sat down on the edge of the bed beside him and gave him a weak smile.

“Oh, come here…” John pulled him down to kiss him gently while Sherlock hovered over him. He ran his hands up Sherlock’s back to tangle in his hair in the way the younger man liked. Sherlock smiled against his lips, his own hands coming up to cup John’s face as their kisses turned deeper. And John, kind, sweet, caring John felt so overwhelmed with love for his consulting detective that he couldn’t help the words that rolled off his tongue.

“I love you.”

Sherlock froze. He pulled away from John, every muscle in his body tense.

“God, Sherlock, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking, it just sort of came out.” John instantly tried to backtrack.

“No, don’t do that. You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t mean it,” said Sherlock, sitting up.

John sighed heavily, the fear that he might have just ruined everything hanging over him like a dead weight. “You’re right: I do mean it. I’ve never loved anyone else the way I love you, Sherlock.” He blinked uncomfortably under the detective’s stare. “I never would have expected it… It just sort of happened, you know? I didn’t think I’d end up middle-aged, and completely in love with a man…” He trailed off, aware he was babbling. Sherlock’s gaze had changed from sharp to stunned.

“You…love me…”

John would have laughed at Sherlock’s expression if the situation hadn’t been so serious.

“No one’s ever said that to me before.” Sherlock’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Something tightened in John’s chest at Sherlock’s words. He leant forwards and pulled the taller man into his arms. “Well, I’m saying it to you now. I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock chanced a look up at his lover and saw nothing but truth in his brown eyes. Sherlock’s voice hitched as he spoke “I…I love you too.” And he meant it.

After that, they said it often and knew that it was true.


End file.
